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  • I Taste A Liquor Never Brewed

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    Emily Dickinson describes feeling intoxicated by nature, like a bee drunk on nectar or a butterfly drunk on dew. She feels inebriated by the air and summer sun, drinking in endless summer days spent reeling among the blue inns of the sky. She claims that even when bees and butterflies stop drinking, she will drink all the more from nature's offerings until angels and saints notice her small form leaning against the sun in her state of drunken joy.

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    i Taste a Liquor Never Brewed

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    i Taste a Liquor Never Brewed

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    Emily Dickinson describes feeling intoxicated by nature, like a bee drunk on nectar or a butterfly drunk on dew. She feels inebriated by the air and summer sun, drinking in endless summer days spent reeling among the blue inns of the sky. She claims that even when bees and butterflies stop drinking, she will drink all the more from nature's offerings until angels and saints notice her small form leaning against the sun in her state of drunken joy.

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    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as DOC, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
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    11 views1 page

    I Taste A Liquor Never Brewed

    Uploaded by

    J-31069
    Emily Dickinson describes feeling intoxicated by nature, like a bee drunk on nectar or a butterfly drunk on dew. She feels inebriated by the air and summer sun, drinking in endless summer days spent reeling among the blue inns of the sky. She claims that even when bees and butterflies stop drinking, she will drink all the more from nature's offerings until angels and saints notice her small form leaning against the sun in her state of drunken joy.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as DOC, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
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    I TASTE A LIQUOR NEVER BREWED (214)

    Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886


    I taste a liquor never brewed
    From Tankards scooped in Pearl
    Not all the Frankfort Berries
    Yield such an Alcohol!

    Inebriate of air am I
    And Debauchee of Dew
    Reeling thro endless summer days
    From inns of molten Blue

    When Landlords turn the drunken Bee


    Out of the Foxgloves door
    When Butterflies renounce their drams
    I shall but drink the more!

    Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats


    And Saints to windows run
    To see the little Tippler
    Leaning against the Sun!

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